Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Lavender Country

The past 10 years of victories for the gay rights movement have
been overwhelming at times; it’s hard to explain to people under 20 just what a
long path it’s been, just how hostile mainstream culture was before Ellen
DeGeneres and and Rufus Wainwright and Elton John living his life as a proud
gay man. Country star Chely Wright came out a couple of years ago; she remains
the only major country star to do so (k.d. lang had already left Nashville
behind when she left the closet).

In 1973, Patrick Haggerty had been kicked out of the Peace Corps
for being gay and had been sent to a mental institution to be “cured.” In
Seattle, he started working with a queer support group, and Lavender Country
was born of political concerns first, not musical ones. Haggerty wrote songs
about electroshock therapy (“they call it mental hygiene / I call it psychic
rape”), falling in love with closeted men, and revolutionary cries to “Rise up
and rip this goddam system down!” The album was funded by Seattle’s Gay
Community Social Services, and distributed entirely off the stage and through
mail-order ads in the back of gay magazines. On paper, that sounds horrible,
like a bad flashback to campus activist open-mic nights.

Granted, Haggerty’s nasal voice is an acquired taste—but then,
so is Hank Williams and Stompin’ Tom Connors. His lyrics are extremely direct
and devoid of subtlety—but this is country music, isn’t it? Nothing about
Lavender Country is terribly unusual, except for the lyrical content.

Thankfully, Haggerty is a much stronger songwriter than one
would expect for someone for whom songwriting was a means to an end. He’s much
more playful than most strident shit-disturbers: he’s funny, joyous and sly,
and never more so than on “Cryin’ These Cocksucking Tears,” a duet with Eve
Morris, that skewers the evil that straight men do: “How long you been
thinking that your shit ain’t stinking? / Well Mama’s done wiping your rear /
You may need a wife, sir, but I won’t spend my life, sir / Crying these cocksucking
tears.” It
might be a polemical pursuit, but Lavender Country is not a screed. The first
lines of the album are: “Waking up to say hip-hip hooray, I’m glad I’m gay /
can’t repress my happiness ever since I tried your way.”

The social and historical importance of Lavender Country is
obvious: even the Country Music Hall of Fame recognized it, in 2000, for being
the first openly gay country record. Thankfully, it’s as rewarding to listen to
as it is to read about.

This welcome reissue comes with a 16-page booklet, featuring a
transcript of an extensive conversation where Haggerty tells his fascinating
life story—which involves so much more than just music. In 1957, his dying
father—a stoic, silent dairy farmer in a remote logging community who raised 10
children—knew Haggerty was gay before the teenager knew himself, and told the
boy to never sneak around and always be himself. (You can read an excerpt of
that story in a piece I wrote for Bunch Family here.) Years later, Haggerty
became a father himself, one of the few out gay men of the time to do so. He’s
a fabulous and warm raconteur; it’s safe to say that reading his story is the
only time in my life I’ve ever become weepy while reading liner notes.

Whether it’s the music or the story that draws you in, Lavender
Country is one of the most fascinating releases of the year. Apparently the
Hidden Cameras’ Joel Gibb is working on a country folk album; if he hasn’t
finished it yet, he’d be well-advised to take a trip to Lavender Country.